


felix fraldarius and the art of seduction

by aac7



Series: friends being a headache [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A dash of spice, Azure Moon - Freeform, Blue Lion Shenanigans (plus Dorothea), Byleth and Felix face their greatest enemies: feelings and flirtation, F/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), professor sylvain invites you to his seminar: the art of seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29194728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: It’s with utter contempt that Felix realizes what must be done. It’s with great disdain, reluctance, and every other negative word he can think of when his feet drag him over to Sylvain’s table, and he mutters the five words that have probably never been strung into a sentence prior to today.“Sylvain, I need your help.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Series: friends being a headache [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958674
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was...absolutely insane but it's 2am and i'm going through with it instead of studying for my anatomy midterm. I hate university and love felileth so *drops this at your feet and runs away*

There were things that Felix and everybody else around him knew that he was good at. 

Swordsmanship was a given, and was probably the first thing anyone would say, if prompted. House Fraldarius was known first and foremost for their skills with a blade after all. His prowess was second only to the professor. 

He could shoot straight enough with a bow, and should his weapon be wrested from his grasp, he had a killer right hook. Fighting was just what Felix was best at. 

That being said, he did have his weaknesses. 

And no, he didn’t mean faith magic or axes. He didn’t even mean the distinct lack of inspiring leadership skills. Felix’s one weakness was quite clear to anyone with eyes, or even just the ability to hear. 

“You...fought well this morning.”

Byleth looks more confused than flattered. Felix never compliments her, lest he feed her ego and fan the flames of her burning desire to constantly kick his ass. 

At the next table over, Felix hears Sylvain choke back what he just knows is a laugh. It makes the urge to lay down and let death claim him even stronger. 

Blinking slowly, Byleth tilts her head at him. “Was I not performing well yesterday?” 

Felix had lost to her in a spar three times yesterday, and hadn’t notched a single win all month. “No... I mean, uh...yes? You were okay yesterday too.”

“Just okay?”

“Yes.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

An awful period of silence follows, and Felix wonders how much force it would take to put his head through a nearby wall as she slowly begins collecting her things. She’d arrived only two minutes prior.

“I have to go…” she mutters, hastily clutching a messy pile of papers to her chest.

“Okay.”

Felix winces as he watches her walk away, looking back at him once with a lingering look of uncertainty clouding her features. 

Flirting. _Flirting_ was his weakness.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, descendent of one of the 10 Elites, could not flirt. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, second son of the great Shield of Faerghus, could not flirt. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who could slice fruit mid-air, _could not flirt._

Wow, is the realization _painful._ He would much rather take the physical blow of a training sword to the ribs rather than whatever the hell this was. The burn of shame and humiliation that creeps up his neck is yet another reminder that he’s been bested by something a very specific _fool_ could master. 

It’s with utter contempt that Felix realizes what must be done. It’s with great disdain, reluctance, and every other negative word he can think of when his feet drag him over to Sylvain’s table, and he mutters the five words that have probably never been strung into a sentence prior to today.

“Sylvain, I need your help.”

The shit-eating grin on the redheaded cavalier’s face is almost enough to make Felix rescind his plea for aid.

Clearly keen on milking this rare occasion for all that it’s worth, Sylvain leisurely throws his hands up behind his head, pushing back so he’s leaning on the hind legs of his chair. Felix is tempted to kick it over. “And what is it that you need my help with?” 

Groaning, Felix’s typically proud posture sulks. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Just want to be sure we’re on the same page.”

Annoyance throbs in his temples. Felix despises being teased, and hates how it prolongs the conversation. “Fine,” he snaps, patience already beginning to wear thin. “I want to know what you, a lazy, philandering man whore, could possibly say to get women to _like_ you. If only for a moment.” 

Dorothea, who he hadn’t realized was also at the table, seals a hand over her mouth to hide the mirth she feels upon seeing Sylvain so blatantly called out. 

Outwardly unaffected - and long used to being the target of Felix’s unfiltered thoughts - Sylvain’s smug grin doesn’t falter. In fact, the look at his face contorts into one of self-righteousness. 

“Finally acting on the obvious hots you have for our old professor, huh? It’s about time you came to me. Watching you trip over your own tongue was getting a little painful.”

“It’s not like that,” Felix lies, because it is absolutely like that and he was absolutely _not_ thinking about the way she’d grinned and praised him after they claimed the Great Bridge just last month. The way her hand, warm, calloused, and strong, had rested over his as she thanked him for all his hard work. He’d always admired her, but the fact that they’d grown close enough that she felt comfortable to just reach out and _touch_ him said more than his closed-off heart could fathom.

Even more curiously, he _let_ her touch him and he _liked_ it. Craved more of it. But he would absolutely never admit that to Sylvain. “I just want her to know that I...enjoy her company.” Infatuation was something Felix seldom experienced, which made the complicated jumble of feelings swelling in his chest so difficult to put into words. 

Sylvain is suddenly at his side, throwing a heavy arm around Felix’s shoulders. “Well you happen to be in luck, my dearest, emotionally constipated friend. For I, Professor Sylvian, master of all things romantic and sensual, can do you one better. I’m gonna teach you a thing or two about a little something called the art of seduction.”

**__________**

**The Art of Seduction | Lesson One**

_The Windows to the Soul_

Sylvain instructs Felix to meet him in their old classroom after the tenth bell. Just like he did during the Academy, Felix sits in the front. No paper or quill, just intense focus. 

But it’s hard to focus when he’s sitting face to face with a ridiculously loud mouth-breather.

“First things first, have you ever asked anyone on a date?”

“No.” 

“So you’re a virgin then?”

_Of course_ that would be one of the first things Sylvain would think to ask. Felix had expected it, but talking about it with _Sylvain_ made him wildly uncomfortable. “What does that have to do with _anything?”_

“So you are? I’m not judging.” 

“Why does it matter if I am or not?” 

“See, that sounds exactly like something a virgin would say.” The look on his friend’s face can only be described as smug, and the teasing waggle of his brows alone is almost enough to shatter the ounce of self-restraint he’d been grasping and hit him in the face. 

Felix refuses to confirm or deny the statement. 

“Since you aren’t known for being too smooth with your words, I think it’ll be best for us to start elsewhere.” Sylvain leans forward, so close that Felix can feel the rush of displaced air as he exhales, wrinkling his nose and resisting the urge to shrink back. “Despite what people might say, I think that seduction always starts with the eyes,” Sylvain explains, batting his surprisingly long lashes in a way that makes Felix nauseas. 

“Why the eyes?” He questions, his knee bouncing underneath the table. Maintaining simple eye contact during conversation already made him anxious, as being the subject of one’s line of sight was like being caught in a spotlight. There was just something so disconcerting about it, to know that he was the sole focus of someone’s undivided attention.

“Are you kidding me? It’s the first indicator of any type of attraction. It lets the other person know that you like what you see, without having to say a word.” The look on Felix’s face must convey both his reluctance and confusion, because Sylvain keeps talking to prove his point. “A single look can be casual, flirty, or even a little sexy. If we’re going for seduction, then here’s what you do.” 

Sylvain sits back in his chair and takes a few deep breaths, rolling his shoulders back a few times before his eyes open and his gaze fixes on Felix. He flattens his feet on the floor, elbows leaning heavily on his knees.

“First, you look them up and down. Don’t linger— not yet at least.” Hazel eyes drag up from the tip of Felix’s boot to the top of his head, making him feel oddly violated. Women _liked_ this? 

“Then, when she notices you staring, you lick your bottom lip. Not like a dog, mind you. Just use the tip of your tongue. Sweep it across like so, then bite the corner a little.” The tip of his tongue darts out and sweeps across his bottom lip, the left corner dragged in for a split second. Felix shifts uncomfortably in his seat, feeling more uneasy than educated. 

“When you’ve got her on the hook, that’s when you bring it home. All you have to do is think about all the _consensual_ things you want to do with her. _To_ her. The eyes convey a lot more than you think they might when you think about stuff like that. Now you try! Try it on me.” 

“I absolutely _do not_ want to think about you in that way _ever.”_

“Pretend I’m the Professor! I’m minding my own business, doing...whatever it is that she does. Oh no! I’ve dropped my chalk. Perhaps I should bend over and pick it up— I swear, whenever she did that back in the day, I went nuts.”

Sighing, Felix cracks his knuckles and tunes out Sylvain’s ridiculous commentary. How hard could it be? If Sylvain could master it, surely he could too. 

The steps were there, he just had to execute them. It was like learning to master the footwork involved in a new combat art. One just needed to go through the motions. 

He looks over Sylvain once, the image of the annoying redhead fading away and his mouth immediately going dry as he imagines flowered lace over pale, scarred legs that people often underestimated in terms of strength. He thinks of those black shorts stretched across shapely hips, and that diamond of exposed skin around her navel, and how it served absolutely no purpose other than to distract him. He licks his bottom lip and catches the corner with his teeth. 

_Think about what you want to do with her. To her._

That was easy. 

He’d pull her into his lap and kiss her, each movement of their lips hungrier than the last. Felix would tear everything off. Her tights, shorts, her ridiculous chestplate. His fingers would curl into her hair to pull her head back, exposing the skin of her neck. His teeth would scrape and sink into the sensitive skin, and she’d chant his name like a prayer, over and over again it would fall from her swollen pink lips--

(Unbeknownst to both of them, Ingrid walks into the classroom in search of her friends, makes note of the— ahem, _intense_ eye contact, and slowly backs out. For once she does not want to know what it is they’re up to.)

“Oh, gods,” Sylvain’s voice interrupts his illicit daydream. Felix blinks back into his dull reality, his knees hitting the underside of the desk when he sees that Sylvain’s face is dangerously close to his own. 

The front of his pants loosen— had they always been so tight?

“That _look…_ there’s a lot of lust trapped in that little body of yours, isn’t there? I really hope this gets you laid.”

**__________**

**The Art of Seduction | Lesson Two**

_The Intimacy of Touch_

Felix _despised_ being touched in any way that wasn’t battle related. He hated the way Sylvain would throw his heavy, armoured arm over his shoulder whenever he laughed. The way Ingrid’s finger jabbed him in the chest while delivering a lecture irritated him. That friendly - although hesitant - pat on the back from the boar after a battle well-fought always made him shudder. Felix just didn’t like having his personal space invaded. 

The easiest solution would be to blame his upbringing behind the chilled bulwark of battle-hardened House Fraldarius. Warmth and affection demonstrated through hugs or other supportive touches were seldom expressed, especially after Duscar.

The only person whose touch hadn’t immediately made him want to recoil or chop their fingers off was that of their professor. Whose touch he found himself craving, oddly enough. 

To anyone that was not a former mercenary/professor/goddess incarnate, Felix’s body was strictly off limits. 

Well, it was supposed to be.

“Once you’re done feasting upon your lady’s beauty with your eyes, you must show her oh how you love her so with your hands. Show her how perfectly your hearts and bodies fit together. You wanna get real close…”

Nothing about the way Sylvain’s hands held his wrists and pretended to adjust his grip around the wooden sword felt sexy. Not one thing about the way said hands drifted down to steady his hips and ‘adjust his stance’ felt seductive. When would Felix _ever_ get a chance to correct Byleth on anything related to swordmanship, anyways? He’s not entirely sure that this tactic would apply— oh, _for the love of Zoltan—_

“That _better_ be a dagger I’m feeling pressed up against my back. If it isn’t, I swear I’ll—”

Sylvain releases his hold on Felix’s hips, and he immediately whirls around and takes a few steps backward, away from the giddy cavalier. “Ingrid’s been really on edge since your dad joined us,” he offers, an explanation to a question Felix _did not need_ answered. “I haven’t had this much physical contact in a while.”

Felix glares. “I don’t care. Keep it in your pants.”

“Aaaand that’s exactly why I made sure to get rid of your sword belt and toss all your— Hey! Where the hell did you get that one?” 

Felix produces a smaller blade from the hem of his stirrups, brandishing it threateningly. 

Eyes wide, Sylvain’s hands move to protectively over his crotch. “Come on, I was just showing you the ropes! The quickest way to a woman’s heart is through the act of touch. Try it and you’ll see,” he insists, turning around so Felix can get behind him. “Pretend I’m the professor. Gods, she has great hips, doesn’t she? Killer set of abs too.”

Felix of all people knows how incredible she looks. He’d never been so physically attracted to someone before, and he’d spent an embarrassing amount of time admiring her every feature from afar. 

But he’d never admit that, so he balks, glaring at his friend’s back. “The quickest way to a woman’s heart is through the fourth and fifth ribs,” he deadpans, fingers curling more tightly around the handle of his weapon.

“Wow, if that’s your method of flirtation, it’s no wonder the professor hasn’t slept with you yet.”

_Don’t kill Sylvain, we need him to lead the cavalry,_ Felix reminds himself, talking himself out of committing homicide in the midst of a war. “It’s also the quickest way to a man’s heart, and I’ll gladly prove it to you.”

“Oh, can you stop with the threats and just put your hands on my body! We’re learning about seduction! Not anatomy!” 

“Stop yelling at me! You’re pissing me off!”

Suddenly very somber, Sylvain looks over his shoulder. “But does it turn you on a little? Ingrid thinks it’s weird, but whenever she yells at me, I get a little hot and bothered. I think I just have a thing for dominant women.”

He feels a headache coming on with each word Sylvain utters. Is this what it was like to be in Ingrid’s shoes? “You’re disgusting. If I do this, will you stop talking?”

“Probably not, but at least we’ll be done and you’ll graduate Professor Sylvain’s class— Wait, if I call myself ‘professor’ does _that_ turn _you_ on?” 

Entire face suddenly aflame, Felix groans, jamming the blade of his dagger into the desk beside them. “Shut up and turn back around so we can get this over with.” Ignoring the smirk he knows is there, he thrusts his hands out in front of him so they hover over Sylvain’s hips. “Like this?”

“You know you’ll actually have to touch her, right?”

“I’m getting there,” he snaps, slowly forcing his hands to clamp down on his friend’s waist. “There. I did it. Can I let go now?”

“No. You have to get closer. Gotta press right up against her...”

“I’m not getting any closer to you than I have to.”

“Why, afraid you’ll like it?”

Felix huffs, eying the dagger standing on the desk. “No, I’m afraid I’ll chop your—”

The doors to the classroom open with an alarmingly loud creak and Felix turns his head to yell at whoever hadn’t the decency to knock.

…Only to lock eyes with his father.

“Ah, Felix, my son! Ingrid mentioned I might find you here...Oh my.”

Shoving Sylvain aside and not checking to see how he lands, Felix glares at the man standing in the doorway, a stack of papers in hand and a wry smile on his face.

“What do you want?” He questions sharply. Of all the people in this godforsaken monastery...

“I did wish to discuss our troop movements in the upcoming battle, but shall I start drafting a letter of proposal to House Gautier instead?” he teases, making Felix’s blood run hot and his temples throb.

“Don’t be cheeky, you crusty old man. It’s not what it looks like.”

His annoyance only grows when his father raises a brow, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “Is that so? Because it looks as though Sylvain is trying to teach you how to romance a woman.”

So maybe it’s exactly what it looks like. “So?”

“I’m...happy that you’ve found someone worth romancing. She must be special.” His father looks about as uneasy delivering the statement as Felix feels receiving it. He hopes that he doesn’t try to hug him. “Am I not allowed to be happy for my son?”

“You are,” Felix nods stiffly, choosing to stare intently at the bookshelf across the room. “Just not...out loud.” All it did was make everyone uncomfortable. “Keep that shit to yourself,” he mutters.

As weird as it made him feel, a part of him was happy the old man _hadn’t._

**__________**

“What’s wrong with Felix’s face?” Annette asks over lunch that afternoon, eyes nervously flitting between her plate and the brooding swordsman across the dining.

“He’s trying to make bedroom eyes at the professor,” Mercedes hums, picking at her fingernails as Annette and Ingrid choke on their vegetables. 

“Mercedes…” Byleth groans, dropping her fork and hiding her face in her hands. “He’s just thinking. That’s a thinking face,” she tries, though she’s fairly sure that the dark, blown-pupil look overtaking his amber eyes is a smidge past ‘thinking.’

Mercedes takes a bite of her food and uses her spoon to point at Felix. “I know that look quite well. Sylvain used to make that face at girls all the time.” 

“It seems that he’s led our poor friend astray,” Ingrid observes, shuddering as she sneaks a glance at her childhood friend, whose eyes have only darkened. “You don’t really think that he’s thinking of the professor like that, do you? She’s practically the Archbishop. Isn’t that some sort of sin?”

“Some people have different kinks. Who knows what he’s thinking about?” Dorothea snickers, throwing a wink in Byleth’s direction. “Ripping your clothes off and bending you over a pew? Making out with you until you see stars? Pretty sexy if you ask me.”

“He’s probably just thinking about sparring with and beating me,” Byleth answers honestly, because what else did Felix Fraldarius think about when he looked at her? 

Although...from the romantic novels that Dorothea and Mercedes loaned her from time to time, Byleth had learned that a stare could mean a lot. Chemistry and longing were often heavily written into stolen glances cast across ballrooms and battlefields. It was an open invitation to learn about one another, a way to communicate without the need for words.

  
Feeling bold, Byleth lifts her gaze to face him head on, and holds eye contact with him for an entire three seconds until he looks away, a deep blush colouring his cheeks. Oh, there was certainly something in that stare. Something that Byleth couldn’t quite put into words. 

Dorothea laughs as he does so, shaking her head. “Oh, he was definitely thinking something dirty. Sylvain probably taught him that. The whole ‘lick and bite your lip’ thing is so lame. How he seduces women with it, I have no idea. Uh, no offense, Ingrid.”

While Ingrid argues that she definitely means full offense, Byleth pauses. It’s as if her brain has stopped working as it processes the songstresses words. “Felix...is trying to seduce me?”

“Oh, Professor,” Annette giggles. “He’s been flirting with you for quite some time now.”

“He has?”

The rest of the table looks at her in shock, a feeling she’d slowly become used to since she’d decided to start voicing her inner monologue. “You really haven’t noticed? Whenever he gets all flustered and stumbles over his words?”

The memory of their earlier conversation returns to her, and she tilts her head, frowning as she recalls how _weird_ the entire exchange had been. “That was flirting?” 

“It’s _Felix,”_ Dorothea points out. “Connoisseur of the blade and all things dark and broody. Perhaps the most insociable noble I’ve ever met. Can’t hold a conversation to save his life. Until today, I don’t think I’ve never even seen him maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds. He flirts in his own way.” 

The rest of the girls start adding observations of their own, turning Byleth’s head into a flurry of thought as she tries to decipher the real meanings behind each instance.

“He smiles when you’re around, and Felix never smiles.”

“He’ll clear his schedule just to join you at the training grounds.”

“He bought you an actual gift for your birthday.” 

_That_ was flirting? Byleth isn’t all too convinced. She’d read enough books to know what ‘flirting’ and ‘seduction’ entailed, and this surely couldn’t be it. “Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? Be friendly and make each other happy?” 

Dorothea pats her shoulder either lovingly or pitifully - again, Byleth can’t tell. “Oh, our poor, romance-deprived professor. If this is going where I think it’s going, ask yourself that again tonight.”

**__________**

There’s an obvious tightness wound in Felix’s shoulders when he approaches her at the training ground, demanding to spar with her. 

Byleth, the ever-gracious hostess and general seeking to better her soldiers, accepts. Nothing out of the ordinary occurs. After she beats him once, he demands they go again, this time with the Sword of the Creator. It’s not an unusual request, especially when he’s chosen to bring out the Aegis Shield. 

As they commence their second round, she notes that he most definitely is _not_ staring at her weirdly or licking and biting his lip. The expression worn on his face is one of uninterrupted concentration as he blocks and parries her blade. 

When he backs out of her reach, Byleth unlatches the clasp holding her blade together, letting it snap into its whip form. Felix, wary of the new extension, attempts to close in and strike her before she can effectively block.

But her sword wraps around his before he can do so, the bony fragments of her blade enclosing that of his silver before she pulls, and the sword is wrested from his grasp as she throws both across the floor. 

Now weaponless, Felix’s lips twist into a half-grin. It was rare that they got a chance to grapple like this, and he knew that his crest had granted him the advantage of strength. He was fast on his feet, and his fists were just as quick and multi-dimensional as his skill with a sword. 

Byleth had enough hand-to-hand experience, but when Felix came at her with a flurry of smart jabs, straights, and uppercuts...she was a little out of her depth. If he were to notch his first win against her all month, this would be the chance.

Byleth cracks all her knuckles before lifting her left arm up protectively, because she knew well enough how lethal Felix’s right arm was. He’d once knocked Balthus out cold with a single strike to the face. Byleth wasn’t intent on suffering the same fate, and she quite liked her jaw in the current shape it was in. 

They circled slowly, eyes no doubt zeroing in on the weaknesses both were already aware of. She’d fought with him enough to know that his right knee was weakened from an injury sustained during his childhood, and he knew that her left arm would unintentionally dip too low when she tried to read his movements.

As it does now when Felix takes the opportunity to rush her, taking a swing with his right. 

Byleth’s eyes widen, leaning back to dodge the blow and snapping back to strike out with her left, missing his ribs by a centimetre when he draws away, barely stepping out of her reach. 

She’s contemplating launching a ball of fire at him - _anything can happen on the field, Fraldarius -_ when he’s in front of her again, taking a page out of her book and hammering his fist into her ribcage. She staggers on her feet, her left arm dipping as she braces for another blow and giving Felix the perfect hole in her defense.

His right fist flies towards her in a menacing swing. Her jaw smarts before the hit even lands. 

“I win,” Felix snickers, and when Byleth opens her eyes, he’s breathing hard, his fist hovering over her cheek. “You think I would actually hit you? We’re marching for Gronder in a few weeks. The boar would kill me if I gave you a concussion.”

“So you decided to bust my ribs instead?” 

He withdraws his fist, walking across the training hall and reclaiming both their swords. “You can heal yourself.”

He watches with a triumphant smirk as she unclasps her breastplate, pressing her hands over the injured side of her torso and allowing faith magic to flow from her fingertips. 

If this was his idea of flirting, he was doing a bad job. 

“Was that some sort of combo?” She asks when her ribs feel semi-new again. “I’m not too familiar with that one. You’ve never used that one before.” When Felix doesn’t answer, she looks over her shoulder to see that he’s staring quite intently at the open air above them, working hard to avoid looking at her.

“My verison of a nimble combo,” Felix explains distantly. “Two consecutive hits. One to lower the defenses and the other to take them out. Catherine taught me.” 

Of course Catherine taught him that. The knight would teach cats how to fight if she could. “I should make it a point to attend more of her seminars. I could obviously use a refresher.” When Felix pries his eyes away from the sky, he switches his gaze to something just over her shoulder as he hands back her sword, and Byleth swears that she catches a hint of a blush creeping over the hem of his turtleneck.

“I could teach you right now,” he offers quickly. “I mean...if you have time. I only have a few minutes.”

Byleth’s brows arch at the offer. “Oh, if you have the time, sure.” 

He almost looks surprised by her acceptance, “Okay, um, just give me a second to grab some water.” 

As he does so, Byleth loosens up by slow throwing a couple of single jabs and crosses, watching her feet in order to study her footwork.

“Hold on,” Felix interrupts behind her. “Your stance is a little too wide.” 

She moves her left foot in a little, feeling much more comfortable on her feet. “Like this?”

“Yeah. You also…” she hears him swallow as he pauses. “...want your hips to be a little more relaxed. You’re too rigid. Dropping your hips will ground you. You’ll be more balanced and in control of your movements. Here, I’ll show you...” 

Byleth nods, shaking her hands out as she waits for Felix to show her the proper position. The next time they grappled, she would _not_ get shadow punched in the face.

She feels hands on her hips, and her elbow reflexively comes up and smashes into his solar plexus. Winded, Felix folds like a piece of paper, and Byleth turns on her heel and uses her left hand to grab his arm, wraps the fingers of her right into his sleeve, and hoists him over her shoulder, letting gravity and momentum finish the job.

“What the hell, Fraldarius?” She was used to touching others, polite handshakes, friendly pats on the head, brief readjustments of stances and sometimes bones. What Byleth wasn’t used to was having others touch her. 

Although...she’d be lying if she said the new feeling was an unwelcome one. It was like she’d been dunked in cold water, energy zipping underneath her skin and awakening her every sense.

Sprawled out on the ground in front of her, Felix wheezes out a curse and rolls onto his side. “I was just trying to help you fix your hip stance…”

Byleth blinks several times, her mouth opening and closing in a lame attempt to apologize, or to say anything, really. But her brain has shut down, attempting hopelessly to wrap itself around the last thirty seconds. 

Wordlessly, Byleth offers him a hand, and is in the process of hauling Felix to his feet when the doors to the training hall open, and Lord Rodrigue walks in.

She lets go of Felix’s hand in an instant, letting him stumble back to the ground, the ensuing _thud_ accompanied by a colourful string of curses. “Lord Rodrigue,” she greets, forcing her lips into an uncomfortable grin. “What can I help you with?”

The gaze of the renowned Shield of Faerghus alternates between her and Felix, who is in the process of dusting off his pants as he cuts a narrowed glance at the man across from them. Their eyes lock, and Byleth finds herself in the midst of some silent battle of wits between House Fraldarius. The muscles of Felix’s jaw tense, and a spasm of irritation crosses his face as his father smiles. 

“Are you both currently available for a quick meeting? Just in the dining hall over dinner.”

“Yes,” Byleth nods earnestly as Felix grumbles in what she assumes is half-hearted agreement. 

Clasping his hands together, Lord Rodrigue looks between the two of them once more, his smile practically beaming with uncontrolled amusement before turning on his heel and walking towards the door.

“Perfect,” he calls over his shoulder, “because it so happens that I am not. You two kids may go on without me, enjoy your date.”

Felix chokes at the mention of the word ‘date,’ his entire face turning a deep shade of red as Byleth blinks several time more. “Did he just—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when you suck so bad at flirting that your dad has to ask your crush out for you


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was crack and i'm so sorry 😂

When the doors shut behind Felix’s father, there’s only one word that can describe the silence that follows.

Awkward. Almost painfully so.

It’s rare that Byleth feels as such, but as Felix continues to grow increasingly red, the reality of the situation begins to sink in for the both of them. 

“A date,” Byleth echoes blankly. She knew what such a thing entailed, but she’d never actually been on one before. The life of a wandering mercenary didn’t accommodate something as frivolous as a romantic outing.

She sneaks a glance at Felix, who catches her eye and immediately turns away. As a noble, he’d surely been on at least one date. It was simply what noblemen did, as Dorothea had often insisted. It was what Lorenz and Sylvain had always done, leaving trails of irritated and heartbroken women in their wake. Noblemen wined and dined women as they searched for the one most worthy of carrying an heir. 

“We don’t have to go,” Byleth manages to add once she gets past the uncomfortable lump in her throat. “We could just...call it a night.”

“No,” Felix says quicker than she expects. “I mean...we’ve eaten together before. Why is this any different?”

He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself of that, but Byleth nods anyways. They were just eating, weren’t they? Why did the situation have to be different now? “That’s true. So...is this...” She gestures vaguely between them.

“A date,” he finishes.

Byleth arches her brows at his apparent change in heart. Just seconds ago he’d literally been choking at the thought. “So you do want it to be a date?”

Felix makes a face she can’t quite interpret, his fists clenching at his sides. “I never said that.”

“Yes, you did. You confirmed it when you said, ‘a date.’”

“No, I said ‘a date?’” He stresses in the exact same monotone as before. “I was finishing the sentence you didn’t complete. I didn’t confirm anything.”

“Well it sounded like you did,” Byleth points out. “You didn’t properly stress the word ‘date’ to warrant the correct tone of a question.”

Byleth has a feeling the shade of red he’s attained isn’t due to embarrassment anymore as he snaps, “What is this, the Academy? Are you going to come after my manners next?”

“Well you’re being annoying,” she retorts, casting him a catty side glance.

“I’m not,” he argues. “ _You_ are. Oh, did I stress the word enough for you that time?”

In a moment of weakness and absolute irritation at his sass, Byleth flips him off. “Do you want it to be a date or not?”

“I don’t know, do you?” He shoots back, deflecting her question yet again.

Realizing that asking again will get them nowhere, Byleth resists the urge to clock him in the face and switches tactics. It was never good to confront Felix head on, anyways. “I know that I’m hungry,” she offers instead.

It seems to work, because Felix backs down enough to nod one time. “I know that I’m hungry too.”

“Okay,” she hums, relieved that the most intellectually challenging conversation she’s had in her life is over. “Meet at the dining hall in fifteen?”

“Fine. It’s a date.”

Byleth’s brain shuts down again. What the—

He realizes what he’s said a second after she does, and looks as though he’d swallowed a lemon as he turns abruptly and all but rushes out the doors.

Byleth needs to go find Dorothea. 

**__________**

When Byleth tells her friends, Dorothea practically flies off the bed, grabbing her hand. “His _father_ set you up on a date?”

“Kind of?”

The vice grip around her hand is stronger than Byleth could have imagined. “Oh gods, do you know what this means, Professor?”

“That Felix isn’t as tough and independent as we all thought?” Ingrid snorts, not looking up from her book.

Dorothea snaps her fingers and points at her friend. “That alone might be the best news I’ve gotten all day, but not quite what I was getting at. Lord Rodrigue wants the future Archbishop to marry into House Fraldarius.”

“What?” Ingrid interjects, her book snapping shut. Byleth winces, realizing that the topic no doubt hit a soft spot. “Lord Rodrigue wouldn’t be thinking about that in the middle of a war, and Felix would never agree to it.”

“She’s about to be one of the most powerful women in Fódlan, and she’s single,” Dorothea states. “It doesn’t matter who wouldn’t do what. When the inevitable rebuild of this continent commences, who better to have on your side than a decorated war hero, pillar of all things holy, and King Dimitri’s right hand woman?”

It takes Byleth about five seconds to realize that Dorothea is talking about her.

“So...Felix was flirting with me this morning, and now he’s proposing?” It all sounded a little ludicrous, but she supposed that was how it worked within the realm of the nobility. Put a ring on someone’s finger, ask questions later. “I’m not sure I’m ready to get married.” 

“They won’t propose right away,” Ingrid informs her. “The initial meeting sets the stage for further conversation. It’s a casual negotiation of terms.”

“Precisely,” Dorothea nods solemnly. “Don’t you worry, Professor, Ingrid and I have handled enough slimy suitors to know how to handle a negotiation such as this.”

“Negotiation?” Byleth repeats, well and truly lost now. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to date Felix, and now they were _negotiating terms?_

Dorothea sighs from a place deep within her chest. “When it comes to the nobility, everything is a negotiation. What you need to do is take control of the conversation. Make sure he’s the one who wants you, not the other way around.”

And here she thought that they would simply eat and converse. Maybe talk strategy for the next step in their campaign or discuss new sword techniques. This was shaping up to be an entirely different fight. A battle of wits between two individuals who had plenty, but no idea how to properly weaponize it. 

What spectacular future leaders they would be.

“How do I do that?” 

“How much time do you have until your date?” 

“Five minutes, give or take,” Byleth guesses. “Just give me a couple of pointers.”

“Okay, give me a second to think…” Dorothea hums, fingers tapping the surface of Ingrid’s desk. “There are three things that you really have to know. First, you need to play hard to get. Never take them up on their initial offer of anything. The first thing he asks or offers you, always say no. It lets him know who holds the power right from the get go.” 

“Say ‘no’ a lot,” Byleth nods. “Got it.”

“Second, be a little mysterious and coy. Draw him in and make him want to get to know you more. Women are complex creatures with many layers, some men choose to see what’s only on the outside,” she sighs a little wistfully. 

“So don’t answer all his questions?” Byleth asks, adding to her mental store of notes.

“Pretty much,” the songstress shrugs. “Finally, if you forget the first two or just feel overwhelmed, use your assets.” 

Byleth pauses, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger and tilting her head in a silent question.

Dorothea giggles, stepping across the room and pushing the dagger back into place. “Oops! Not those assets.” Her hands rest over the clasps of her breastplate. “May I remove this?” 

Her hands find the clasps of Byleth’s armour, and she feels oddly naked as she feels eyes sweep over her torso. “You have a great chest. Use it.” 

“Use…my breasts?”

“Oh, Professor. Nothing distracts a man as well as a great pair of tits. Use them to seduce him and bend him to your will. Observe.” It’s with great intrigue that Byleth watches Dorothea clasp her hands together, casually using her upper arms to push her breasts in and accentuate her cleavage. “‘Oh, Felix,’” she giggles, batting her lashes. “‘I’ve met anyone as handsome and brooding as you.’ You can even touch his hand, or run your foot up his ankle. Guys love that.”

Byleth looks down at her own chest. “That’ll work?”

“Oh, absolutely,” both Ingrid and Dorothea exclaim. 

“If he wants to see it, yeah. Which we’ve well past established that Felix does,” Ingrid adds. “The second Sylvain sees just a peek of my cleavage, all logical thought flies out the window, and suddenly he’ll agree with me about anything.”

“You’re sure about all of this?” Byleth checks because she honestly has no way of telling, considering she’d never been on any sort of date before. 

“Noblemen are the most predictable creatures on the planet, Professor. We’re sure.” 

**__________**

Felix wasn’t the type to panic. He rarely did, because he rarely had to. Only stupid people put themselves in situations that warranted panic, and Felix definitely didn’t think himself stupid.

….Then again, a non-stupid person would most definitely not have gone to Sylvain for help with anything.

He should have gone to Ashe instead. The boy had somehow managed to woo the future queen of Brigid, after all. The only person Sylvain had managed to possibly tie down was Ingrid, who so happened to be the only one patient enough to deal with his bullshit.

Still, it was amazing to him that, after all the crap he’d talked about earlier today, the social intricacies of the actual courtship were left untouched. Hence the reason why he was panicking.

“To be fair,” Sylvain starts, casually propped up against the wall as Felix paces, “I didn’t really think you’d get this far. I figured you’d choke the second you looked at her.”

Which he had, because his mind had gone frustratingly blank the second she removed her breastplate and he’d blushed as if he’d never seen a woman before. In the midst of his embarrassing schoolboy daze, his brain had then been rattled when she threw him over her shoulder. 

“Well, I didn’t,” he says anyways.

“You just told me your dad walked in and set you up, and then she yelled at you about grammar. I know you have a thing for teachers but—”

“...You get turned on when Ingrid yells at you, too.” 

Sylvain’s head snaps up so fast that Felix swears he hears his neck crack. “You get turned on by strong women too— Holy crap, I bet you’re a bottom. Ingrid owes me fifty gold!”

_Bottom?_ “What the fuck does that even mean? In a fight, I always come out on top.” 

The amused shine in his eyes only annoys Felix further. “Ah, never mind,” he dismisses. “We just have more in common than I thought.” 

Felix isn’t too sure if he likes the sound of that. “Whatever. Just tell me what to do now.”

“What, on your date? You just have to romance the crap out of her. Ask her questions, compliment her. Tell her that she has nice eyes or something,” Sylvain shrugs, seeming to forget that Felix complimenting others is an occasion rarer than an azure moon. “As long as she’s sitting at the table with you, all you have to do is say anything to keep her there until she realizes that you’ll just have to do for the night.”

Not completely understanding, Felix frowns. “That works?”

“Like a charm,” he confirms. “You know, when this works - which I’m sure it will - you might need these.” He reaches into the pocket of his pants and tosses a small bag at Felix. 

He momentarily stops pacing to catch the small pouch and tugs on the leather drawstring to take a peek inside. He wrinkles his nose when something fragrant wafts out, the bitter scent Felix vaguely recognizes from Ingrid’s cups of morning tea. “What is this?”

“Contraceptive herbs,” the redhead explains mildly, and Felix recoils as if burned, letting the bag drop to the floor between them. Sylvain moves faster than he ever has before, sweeping whatever had fallen out back into the pouch and tying it up tight. “What’d you do that for? This stuff is expensive!”

“It’s a date, we’re not going to have sex!” He splutters, taking a step backwards when Sylvain tries to shove the bag into his hands again. 

“I didn’t teach you all of my moves so you could go out and _not_ get yourself laid. Aren’t you tired of being wound up and sexually repressed all of the time?” 

“I am not sexually repressed,” he says shortly, voice lowering to a growl when a few knights walk by. “The only thing I’m ever repressing is the constant urge to kill you.”

“And I’m grateful for that, but you know I’ll forever be an advocate for safe sex, so here,” Sylvain lunges forward and shoves the bag into his pocket, and Felix immediately digs it out and drops it back onto the floor. He’s in the midst of summoning the glyph for Thunder when a voice startles him and the magic fizzles away. 

“What are you two doing?” 

And _of course_ it’s the one time Ingrid isn’t the one showing up to subdue one of their many scuffles. The universe seems set on making a joke out of his life today, because Byleth stands a few feet away, hands on her hips and wearing a thoroughly unimpressed look on her face.

Sylvain doesn’t answer, instead choosing to run off like the coward he is. Felix is seriously considering using Thoron to catch him, but panics when Byleth reaches down for the bag he’d dropped in front of him.

“What is it?” She asks when Felix jumps forward and snatches it off the ground, oh-so-unfortuately shoving it deep into his pocket.

“Nothing,” he answers sharply, though a blush is already creeping up the side of his neck. His eyes sweep over her much slower than what was probably appropriate, but Felix finds he can’t help it. “Where’s your armour?” 

She smooths her shirt. “I didn’t think I needed it. Unless you were planning on stabbing me over dinner.” 

He can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “Maybe not dinner, but I was planning on doing so over dessert,” he says in jests in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She hardly reacts whatsoever, her brows furrowing as she stares openly at him. Felix couldn’t tell if she was off-put by his joke or irritated by it, and it worried him. He’s about to pull out his own dagger and stab himself in the leg to get out of there when a tiny smile twitches across her lips.

“You don’t usually eat dessert.”

The relief that washes over him is immediate. Making jokes is yet another of his few weaknesses, and he won’t be trying something like that again for a while. Perhaps it’s best to tackle one thing at a time. “People change,” he shrugs, though most would argue that people like him most certainly did _not_. “We should get in line for dinner.” 

If she’s thinking otherwise, she doesn’t say so, letting him steer her into the bustling dining hall to claim a spot in line. The special of the day is the two-fish sauté, which Byleth ends up ordering for the both of them. 

Felix isn’t sure why he feels so uneasy. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d shared a meal. 

Once she hands him a tray of food, the two of them stand across from each other, unsure of what to do next. Felix very much felt like they were back on the training grounds, circling tirelessly as they anxiously anticipated the other’s first move.

_Ask her to sit,_ Sylvain’s voice urges at the back of his mind. Felix finds himself complying, searching the crowded hall for a place at one of the long tables. Two hooded individuals decide to vacate their seats in the far right corner of the dining hall.

It’s the ideal spot to choose, tucked away from the bulk of the dinnertime chatter, far enough to muffle the sounds of dishes clattering in the kitchen and allowing them to converse without having to yell at one another.

“Do you want to sit?” He offers confidently, gesturing to the newly unoccupied seats. 

Byleth squints down the bridge of her nose at him, taking an insufferably long time to decide whether she wants to sit or not.

“No,” she says slowly. 

Felix is mildly horrified because he has no idea what to do next, and he swears he hears the sound of someone’s palm smacking their forehead somewhere behind him. 

**__________**

“Okay,” Dorothea winces. “That’s probably on me. I should have known that she would take me literally.”

Ingrid flips her hood down, peering across the room. Byleth is red, Felix is red, and they stand there staring at one another until Byleth finally accepts his invitation to sit. “Felix is freaking out right now, I can see it in his eyes. I almost feel sorry for him…”

The songstress reaches across the table to pat her friend’s hand. “Ingrid, dear, the two most awkward people in this monastery are on a date, and are possibly about to get engaged. I’m just sorry we didn’t think to bring snacks.”

“You ladies _are_ the snacks.”

It’s almost as if her eyes are conditioned to roll at the behest of Sylvain’s voice, but across from her, Ingrid cracks the shyest smile as Sylvain pecks her on the lips. “Especially you, I could spread you on a cracker and eat you up.”

Blech. Sylvain in love was just as disgusting as Sylvain the ‘philandering man whore.’

According to the healthy flush colouring Ingrid’s cheeks, his charm isn’t completely for naught, and she scoots over to make room at the table for him, leaning into his chest when he slings his arm around her. “Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to support my prodigy. I helped Felix score a date,” he announces proudly, as if he’d done the world a great service in doing so.

What?” Dorothea scoffs. “His father set them up.” 

“Only because he knew Felix would be too scared to ask,” Sylvain chuckles. “Everything else? The chemistry, the romance, the sexual tension so palpable that Felix could cut it with his sword? That was all me.”

Dorothea and Ingrid exchange a brief glance. “So that,” Ingrid gestures down the table at the two, “isn’t a political arrangement? It’s a real date?”

Sylvain’s face scrunches in clear distaste of the topic, and he recoils slightly. “Political arrangement? You know as well as I do that Felix would never agree to anything like that, especially if his dad was the one to arrange it.”

He’s right, Dorothea realizes. Felix may be a noble by title, but the way he carried himself and the way he quite willingly shirked all associated responsibility had always been a little out of character, even for a Kingdom noble. 

“Besides,” Sylvain shrugs, “I was just helping him get laid, Rodrigue swooping in to help secure the win was fortunate coincidence.” 

Oh dear. “So let me get this straight,” she starts, manicured hands laying flat on the table. “Felix is on a real date with the Professor, who we all know that he has actual, human feelings for, and he’s employing tactics taught to him by you? And you were just trying to get him laid?”

Ingrid groans, pulling away and shoving at his chest, causing Sylvain to look equal parts confused and alarmed as he looks between the two exasperated women. “What? Have you seen him? He is ten percent sword, forty percent sarcasm, and fifty percent sexual frustration. He obviously needs it!”

“Sylvain, as accurate as your math is,” Dorothea put her hands together, pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips. “In the entire year that you spent hitting on the Professor, did you ever elicit any type of positive reaction from her?”

“...Well, no—” 

She gestures downwards with her hands. “So she never really picked up what you laid down, and you, an experienced whore, knew what you were doing. Now you expect _Felix_ to do the same and be successful? Dear goddess, it’s a good thing you’re rich.”

Sylvain blinks, his mouth hanging open uselessly for ten whole seconds before it sinks in. “Oh, I think I see what you mean. I just gave him some advice though, I swear!”

Ingrid whacks him on the shoulder. “You fool! You know you’re not allowed to give advice to anyone when it comes to romance. Do you not remember the last time?”

“In my defence, I didn’t think that Petra would take the term ‘cat-call’ literally and start meowing at Ashe.” 

The vein in Ingrid’s forehead throbs, a sign of Sylvain’s soon-to-be demise. “Why would you have her cat-call Ashe in the first place?!” She asks, her voice just a decibel shy of yelling. “Does the term ‘chivalry’ elude you completely? Are you really just that crass?” She thrusts her index finger into Sylvain’s sternum, glaring at him accusingly. “You better hope that Felix doesn’t get his heart broken.”

Dorothea really wishes she’d brought snacks now.

He doesn’t offer anything to defend himself, staring down at Ingrid’s finger and swallowing hard as his eyes drag their way back up to Ingrid’s face. 

Actually if she’d had snacks, she might throw them up. 

Ingrid walks off, muttering something about needing to take matters into her own hands. Dorothea wonders what exactly that means. 

Sylvain shifts stiffly in his seat as he exhales a trembling breath and runs a hand through his hair. When he turns back to the table, his eyes are wide and his neck is flushed.

“Do I even want to know?” Dorothea sighs, propping her elbows up on the table and resting her chin atop her folded hands.

“Oh, yeah, I’m half hard right now,” he admits, making Dorothea wonder why the hell she’d bothered to even ask.

**__________**

“And that,” Byleth concludes, “is a list of all the poisonous plants native to Faerghus.”

“That was...informative,” Felix nods slowly, though he’d really only caught the tail end of her list. “Thank you.” Should he get lost in the woods one day, the possibility of him consuming a poisonous plant was still extremely high.

“You’re welcome.” 

...And that was the end of that conversation, the only sounds between them the scrape of silverware against porcelain and the occasional cough. 

“So...how are you?” He asks, cringing internally at the stagnant conversation topic. 

“I’m good,” she smiles, though it wavers as she pushes food around her plate. “You?”

“I’m good too.” That could not be farther from the truth. “How does your food taste?”

“We’re eating the same thing,” she points out. 

He’d barely touched his dish, for fear of swallowing on a fishbone and choking in front of her. “Oh, so it seems.” 

If this date was as ill-fated as it seemed, Felix had a plan. First he was going to throttle Sylvain. Then he would dump his body into the Airmid, and immediately afterwards he would abscond from House Fraldarius to live the remainder of his days as a wandering mercenary. Just blades, blood, and—

“Felix? What do you think?”

He jerks at the mention of his name, his knees knocking the underside of the table. He hadn’t realized she’d been talking to him. “Uh…” 

Over her shoulder, he watches as Sylvain shoves someone out of their seat, and begins gesturing wildly at Felix. It’s a combination of hand gestures that he could only dream of properly interpreting. Then he points at Byleth, winks, and makes a kissing face.

Disgusting. 

But Felix actually kind of understands now. 

He straightens in his seat, clears his throat, and states very confidently, “I think you look good tonight.”

Byleth seems taken aback, either by his confidence or his proclamation, and turns away as a blush creeps onto her cheeks. “Thanks, but I was actually just wondering what you thought about taking a battalion with you to Gronder...”

He had to get out of there. Immediately. He would skip parts one and two of the plan and just disappear. “Sure.” 

Behind her, Sylvain begins desperately pointing at his own eye. 

“Eyes,” Felix blurts out, the word pulled from his throat. Byleth looks at him strangely, waiting. “You...have them.” 

Speechless. He’s rendered her speechless with his masterful tongue.

It’s then that he notices her gaze drift to something behind him, and Byleth slowly crosses her arms, almost purposefully accentuating her cleavage. 

The sound Felix makes is embarrassing, and can only be described as halfway between a squeak and a cough.

“Professor, Felix.” The both of them visibly relax at Ingrid’s interruption. “You’re needed in the Cardinal’s Room.”

**___________**

“You cannot do that, Dimitri,” Byleth insists, gesturing to the map on the table. “It’s stupid, and will get us all killed!”

“It offers the quickest path to that woman,” the boar growls, glaring down at his commander. “The sooner I take her head from her shoulders, the sooner the war is over.” 

Byleth’s eyes offer no sympathy, even as she fights to keep her voice calm. “A direct frontal assault on the Imperial army will do us no good in this fight. Our numbers are sorely lacking in comparison. Cutting through the forest slows our troops down and hinders mobility. If we avoid the woods and march along the bay of the river, the cavalry are at a severe disadvantage. I know you know these things, Dimitri. I taught you these things.” 

As always, the boar doesn’t seem interested in employing any knowledge he gained in the Academy. “I _need_ to—”

“No,” she interrupts. Felix inhales sharply. 

If Byleth were a lesser woman, the murderous look on Dimitri’s face would have surely made her run away, but she stands her ground. “You know that I will--”

“I don’t care. We are not doing it,” she says firmly. 

“I am the _king—_ ”

She stands toe to toe with the boar, and though he towers over her, Byleth easily makes it clear who calls the shots in their dynamic. _“You_ are a prince. I am the Archbishop, and I outrank you when we’re here in the monastery. If you do this, the Knights of Seiros will not support you. I won’t let you kill us with your stupidity.”

Something hot coils in the pit of Felix’s stomach as he watches Byleth fix the prince with the unsettling gaze of hers, not at all intimidated by the wild boar they had come to know. He shifts in his spot, half turning his body to discreetly adjust the front of his pants.

His father slaps the back of his head as he does so. “That’s the Archbishop you’re thinking about, Felix,” he scolds, though it sounds more teasing than condescending, and Felix despises it. 

He scowls in return, and is about to retort when he notices the boar’s hand tightens into a fist, and Felix’s own hand instinctively finds the handle of his sword. All the while Byleth continues to stare, all but daring him to _try._

Instead, he huffs petulantly and stalks across the room to attempt to scare Gilbert or Ingrid into compliance. 

Rolling her eyes, it’s with intrigue and a tiny bit of alarm that Felix watches Byleth approach his father. “You need to say something to him,” she whispers urgently. “He’ll head off on his own if I leave him alone for a second on the battlefield.”

“I have tried, Professor,” his old man admits. “He is a difficult man to reason with.” 

“Well you need to try harder,” Byleth deadpans, and Felix’s mouth goes uncomfortably dry. No one had ever spoken to his father so plainly. “ _We_ need to,” she adds. “I won’t let him endanger the lives of his friends and our soldiers.” 

She turns on her heel, then snaps her fingers once as she strides towards the door. “Felix. My study.” 

No one argues when she leaves without being dismissed— though he doubts anyone’s protests would have mattered. Felix feels four sets of eyes follow him out of the room, and for once, he doesn’t mind at all. 

This was a woman he would shamelessly follow anywhere. The view from behind was just another benefit.

Byleth walks around her father’s desk, pulling reports from drawers. “Shut the door behind you,” she instructs, clutching a stack of papers in her arms as she scours the bookshelf. He does as she asks, and when he turns back into the room, Byleth is behind him, shoving a stack of papers into his chest. 

“I need you to start reviewing all the reports we’ve received from Yuri’s spy network in the last month. I want to know what we can expect from the Empire.” 

He complies, of course. They spend the better part of their evening sitting across from each other debating tactics and formations, researching, and at one point, just chatting amicably over a pot of tea. It was comfortable, familiar, and...nice. 

At some point during the night, they both reach for the teapot and her hand brushes against his, sending waves of heat straight to his core. 

He immediately retracts his hand, because Felix suddenly feels like he’s overheating. As casually as he can manage, he unbuckles his coat and tosses it over the corner of the coffee table. 

Unfortunately as he does so, Sylvain’s _stupid_ bag of herbs decides to fall out of his pocket, landing right on top of Byleth’s set of notes. 

Part one of the plan was instantly reinstated. 

Felix lunges for it, but Byleth had always been quicker, and she grasps it’s drawstrings between two fingers and holds it up in the candlelight. “Is this tea?” 

He sputters uselessly, so to his utter horror, she opens it, and her brows disappear up behind her bangs. “Do you always carry contraceptive herbs with you?” 

When she sets it atop his coat, he can’t tell if she’s upset or mad or amused, and it worries him. “I don’t. Sylvain put them in there,” he excuses lamely, fairly sure that even the tips of his ears are turning red. 

“Oh,” she nods slightly, turning back to her tactics primer. Byleth doesn’t say anything more about it, so neither does he. Opening his mouth would only prove to humiliate him further. 

He’s about to dive into the second stack of reports when he feels something touch his thigh. Felix tenses, and inhales sharply through his teeth when he looks down and sees the tip of Byleth’s boot slowly working its way up to his knee.

She doesn’t look up, idly twirling her quill between her fingers. He opens his mouth to ask what she’s doing, but the words get caught in his throat and no sound comes out. _What the hell is she doing?_ Felix’s heart is hammering in his ribcage, and his hand grips the armrest of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white. Neither of them speak, and anticipation hangs thick in the air as her foot tdrifts up and down...

Three sharp knocks on her door make them both jump, and Felix feels the heel of Byleth’s boot dig into the muscle of his calf, and a strangled cry of shock falls from his lips. Byleth winces, mouthing a quiet ‘sorry.’

Before she can ask who’s at the door, the hushed voices of his two idiot friends make their presence known. _“Oh man, Ingrid, that definitely sounded like Felix doing something. What if he’s getting—”_

There’s a thump of a fist hitting flesh, and Felix silently thanks Ingrid. _“You suck at whispering, Sylvain. We’ll just come back later.”_

It isn’t until their footsteps disappear down the hall that Felix just barely relaxes enough to push his chair back. He reaches down and rolls his blue stirrups down to his boot, dragging the leg of his pants up to his knee. The area where her heel had jammed into his skin is slightly red, and would only leave a light bruise at worst. 

Byleth is kneeling at his side, hands already glowing with magic. “I’m so sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have done that, but you— and I wanted to...um,” Byleth stammers, Felix can’t help but chuckle at her helpless floundering. She eventually gives up on an explanation, laying her hand over his reddened skin. 

“It’s fine,” he insists, but she ignores him, laying her cool hand over his leg and heals him anyways. “You didn’t have to do that, it was hardly a bruise.”

She pushes up off of her knees and dusts off her leggings. “Please, I needed to make up for our horrible...date.” 

“It...wasn’t great,” Felix admits, then gestures to the open books and array of papers spread around them. “But I think it ended okay. I like spending time with you like this.” Discussing the upcoming campaign had been loads easier than dinner had been. 

So maybe conventional dates and ill-advised methods of seduction weren’t their thing. Blades and battle had always brought them together, and Felix had been a fool to forget that.

She smiles warmly at him, and Felix’s heart almost stops beating. “I do too.” 

Nodding, Felix slides his pant leg back down, and carefully rolls his stirrups back up. He’s refastening the button when he notices Byleth staring quite intensely at him, following the movement of the fabric covering his leg. Maybe it’s a trick of the candlelight, but he swears her eyes darken in the slightest, and notices her very slightly biting the corner of her bottom lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid: She snapped her fingers and he just followed her out without question!  
> Sylvain: Ingrid, you definitely owe me 50G. 
> 
> i think we can all agree that sylvain was the true hero of this story


End file.
